


Ghost Story

by Kantayra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-05
Updated: 2007-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A father tells his son a ghost story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> I feared to post this, but then txtequilanights made me. So, in a way, this is all her fault. Except for that part where it's totally mine. :P It's also sort of Buffy's fault, since there are definite ideas from that show used in this fic.

“Listen to me, son.” His dad grabbed him by the shoulder, both firm and gentle at the same time. “You need to be more careful. You know how dangerous our line of work is, and you can’t risk our family like that.” A sigh followed and then: “Let me tell you a story.”

And that was when he knew he was _really_ in trouble. Other parents told their kids stories to help them sleep at night; _his_ dad told him stories to scare him straight. “I’m sorry, dad, really. It won’t happen again!”

Of course, all protests fell on deaf ears.

“About ten years or so ago, there was this family called the Carsons who had come over from Utah.”

“Da-a-a-a-ad!”

That earned him a shushing. “Listen up. This is important.” There was just no way to argue with his dad when he got all _commanding_ like that. “Now, the Carsons had just moved into this old house. Creaky floorboards, electrical shorts, strange groans throughout the night. They didn’t think a thing of it.”

He knew where this was going. God, did he know. Instinctively, he pulled his blankets up around his nose and peered out as his dad’s voice got that rich cadence that meant he was really getting into his story now.

“One day, though, something changed. The Carsons’ daughter had a friend over, and that friend peeked up in the attic where she didn’t belong, and… Now, the Carsons’ daughter had been in the kitchen, and when she got back to her room, she found it empty. She started calling out, ‘Emma? Emma!’ because that was her friend’s name and all. Finally, just when she’d given up and was headed back to her room, she noticed something on the carpet. Drops of red. The Carson girl didn’t know what it was for a moment, but then she looked up, saw the open door to the attic, and Emma torn to shreds above her.”

He gulped and started to shiver.

“And that’s when…” His dad’s voice dropped to a dark, rough whisper. “…The hunters first came.”

He clutched the blanket closer. The part with the family in the house never got to him; that just set the scene for what was to come.

“There were two of them this time. A father and a son. At first, they didn’t think it was anything unusual. Your standard haunting, maybe an overly vindictive poltergeist. They looked into the history of the house, but nothing had happened in that house. No suicides or murders or anything else that might explain why something had killed Emma.”

This was the lull, the calm before the storm. That meant that things were going to get scary and _fast_.

“Nothing except one missing person report from the eighties. Turns out that the family back then had had a teenage son – David – and he’d gone missing one summer while his parents were away at work. Well, the hunters tracked down David’s parents, got in quick and easy claiming to be the cops looking into a cold case, and they got David’s parents to reveal something very interesting. It turns out that David was into that occult stuff. Ghosts and demons and spells. His parents didn’t know the details – parents never do – but it was pretty clear that David had finally done… _something_. Something real. Something those parents couldn’t even begin to comprehend.” His dad paused strategically, looking him right in the eyes. “You following me, son?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That night the hunters decided to summon whatever it was. Flying almost completely blind, mind you, because the book with the ritual was long gone. They were ready, though: salt and silver and fire and holy water. So they did their own little spell, and that’s when they discovered what David had accidentally done. What had killed Emma and had been haunting that house all along.”

“Y-Yes?”

“They discovered…a vortex.”

His eyes widened.

“That’s right. David had been trying to summon up a spirit – Ouija stuff, nothing fancy – but he’d gotten something wrong somewhere, and he’d ended up summoning _all_ spirits. The dead had flooded into the house from miles around, sucked David right into the void, and set up shop in his place. Now, the hunters had come, disturbed their peace, and…”

“Dad?” he all but whimpered.

“Shh, son.” His dad patted his knee, but once one of these stories had begun they didn’t end until it was all over. “The hunters pulled out these nifty little salt charms because they’d done this sort of thing before. The ghost that had gotten Emma? It tried to take them out. Lunged for them, but they’d used a salt circle, too. That ghost disintegrated upon impact. Not that it would have lasted long, anyway. The hunters threw their salt into the center of the vortex – the great gaping spiritual maw in the center of David’s old bedroom – and that was that. All the spirits, dozens upon dozens, gone in a heartbeat.”

That seemed too easy. That _couldn’t_ be the whole story. There had to be a catch somewhere…

“The thing the hunters didn’t realize, though,” his dad continued inevitably, “was that that vortex was so strong that it hadn’t just pulled spirits into that one house. It had gotten the whole neighborhood. And while the Carters’ house was now clean, there were ghosts in every other house around them.”

His fingers were white on the blanket now from gripping it so hard.

“That house,” his dad’s voice dropped to an almost inhuman growl, “was the house next door. And those hunters?” A dramatic pause. “Were the _Winchesters_.”

“AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

His dad laughed and patted him on the back as he buried his head in his dad’s stomach. “It’s okay, son. It’s all right now. But, just you remember, if you keep haunting that nice family that’s living here now, those Winchesters could come back. We know they’ve got an eye on the neighborhood…”

He just nodded numbly and clung tighter to his dad.

“So no more appearing with bloody eyeballs over the kitchen table?”

“No, dad.”

“And no more scaring that pretty girl when she’s in the shower?”

“I p-promise.”

“That’s a good boy.” And his dad kissed him good-morning.

He doubted he’d get a wink of sleep, though, even in his dark, reassuring attic.


End file.
